One For Sorrow

Oil on Linen

100cm x 120cm

She holds a red rose to her chest, one hand raised to her lips. Beside her, a crow watches with the patient certainty of something that already knows the answer.

The birds keep coming — owl, crow, each one a different face of the same vigil. One for Sorrow borrows its title from the old counting rhyme, and does not flinch from what that means. Some things arrive alone. Some losses cannot be divided or softened. They simply are, and we learn, in time, to sit with them.